Scattered People

[Intro – M-1] Yeah. London, Belgium, [Zahir?], Haiti, Jamaica. DR, PR. Even if fucking Babylon scattered [Verse 1 – M-1] Yo, I promote this, sat back and wrote this Rhyme about the hopeless, add it to ya quote list Don't miss the African rise, before your eyes It won't be televised And if it is, they prolly telling lies, to hold us back It don't take a nation of millions, it take crack And black folks selling the black That's the game all over the world We the same all over the world We the same muthafuckas [Verse 2 – Shabazz the Disciple] Aiyo, I cultivate the soil of the mind like a farmer I make it evident—heaven's a slave man's karma The charmer of the serpent, the bomber of the merchant Who will once exile savages in caves lurking A black house divided, won't stand religion's mental prison Life is mathematics, devils conquer with division The black man's the numerator, black woman denominator Once they been divided, the black child is the reminder [Chorus – stic.man] Who said street niggas ain't got no class? This whole society divided by class The rich cracker is the ruling class The rich niggas is the middle class And you and I make up the working class Every man fall somewhere within his own certain class And from the way things is looking, dun, we certain to clash Scattered people, we all the same [Verse 3 – dead prez and Shabazz the Disciple] [M-1] Yo, Puerto Ricans is poor people. They Africans too So is Jamaica, and I ain't saying nothing that's new Aiyo, the Mexican land, got pyramids like Egypt Same tree, same root. Son, you best believe it [stic.man] The ghetto is a prison with invisible bars Politicians know the problems, but they never get solved They got us working like slaves at these capitalist jobs Putting food on they tables while our neighborhoods starve [Shabazz the Disciple] Word, I know y’all feel a certain climate What we deal with is culture refinement We raise the dead before the vultures find it I raise an ultraviolet We on a kosher diet I'm marching with the People’s Army, son, we multiplyin’ [Chorus x2 – stic.man] Who said street niggas ain't got no class? This whole society divided by class The rich cracker is the ruling class The rich niggas is the middle class And you and I make up the working class Every man fall somewhere within his own certain class And from the way things is looking, dun, we certain to clash Scattered people, we all the same